


Easy

by Nemuissleepy



Series: Good Thing [1]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst, Anxiety, Comfort, F/M, Heartbreak, Mental Health Issues, Not Beta Read, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Reader-Insert, Soft Sakusa Kiyoomi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-01
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-13 18:15:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29780169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nemuissleepy/pseuds/Nemuissleepy
Summary: You were someone easy to get along with. That is why Sakusa Kiyoomi chose you.Perhaps he should have known how easy it was for him to lose you too.
Relationships: Sakusa Kiyoomi & Reader, Sakusa Kiyoomi/Reader
Series: Good Thing [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2188806
Comments: 6
Kudos: 32





	1. Venom

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi there! This is my first time writing fanfiction so please be kind. |ω･)ﾉ
> 
> This work was supposed to be a prologue of sorts but I had so many ideas I decided to make it its own work as part of a series! 
> 
> Hope you enjoy it! ٩(◕‿◕｡)۶  
> \---  
> TW: Depiction of anxiety

You were someone easy to get along with. That is why Sakusa Kiyoomi chose you.

So why is it that you’re being so difficult today?

“I- I just,” you said, feeling frustrated at the loss of words. “I just want you to be here for me, why is that so hard?”

You must have had the worst day of your life so far. First, you’ve learnt that you failed your advanced marketing class _and_ advanced finance class by _three_ points, requiring you to retake the two modules and stay back a semester. Then checked your email and saw the rejection email from the prestigious dance school you wanted to enter since you were five. While you re-read that email in shock, someone bumped into you from behind, causing you to drop your phone down the staircase and cracking the screen beyond repair. Lastly, in your haste to try and salvage said phone, you skipped down the staircase as the device tumbled downstairs, causing you to miss a step and land awkwardly. The sprained ankle meant you couldn’t take part in your upcoming dance competition, your last dance competition before graduation.

Well, it’s not as if you could graduate in time anymore.

“I had a tough day too, [Name],” Kiyoomi hissed. “Why can’t you understand that I just want to be left alone?”

You knew of Kiyoomi’s coping mechanisms. Sometimes when he felt anxious over a game or the prospect of meeting new people, he would slip his hand in yours. Your linked hands and gentle squeezes would calm his jittery hands almost immediately. Sometimes when he felt depressed over a lost game, he would hug you from behind, craving your touch but too embarrassed to admit it to your face. Sometimes, when he’s angry or stressed, Kiyoomi just wants to be alone in his room or spikes balls in the gym until he loses steam.

You tried recounting the events of the day to him, tears pricking the sides of your eyes as you tried to convince yourself that it’s the ache of your swollen ankle that is causing it, not the nasty throbbing sensation of your chest. You hoped that Kiyoomi would understand you, understand your needs, just like how you understood his.

An angry vein popped on his forehead and he forced himself to listen to you. Were you trying to make him guilty? Kiyoomi didn’t think he deserved to be guilt-tripped now, especially when he was just assaulted by a few rabid fangirls who kept insisting on taking photos too close for comfort to “celebrate” his MVP title. Kiyoomi took a shower already in the university but still felt itchy from the ghosts of their touches on his skin. He didn’t need this conversation. He needed a shower.

“I’ll buy you another phone alright,” Kiyoomi felt electricity in his chest shooting all the way to his fingertips. He was feeling jittery from the germs on his skin and this heated conversation. His mind focused on the shower. “I don’t see what the big deal is.”

“It’s not about the phone,” you raised your voice, “it’s the fact that I’ve had the worst day of my life and you can’t even be bothered to be here for me!”

Something in Kiyoomi snapped. Maybe it was the raised voice. Or maybe it was how the itch on his skin grew and he could no longer ignore his anxiety creeping upon him. Perhaps it was because Kiyoomi didn’t think he deserved any of this. The anxiety, the guilt trip and the blame.

He had enough.

“How is it my fault that you failed the class?” Kiyoomi bellowed. “How is it my fault that you didn’t get into that dance school?”

The words hit you like a truck. Did it sound like you were blaming him?

_No, you just craved comfort._

“I- I’m not blaming you,” tears were spilling from the corners of your eyes now, uncontrollable. “I-just worked so hard on that routine, I poured my heart and soul into the competition and it’s-just”

Kiyoomi looked at the ugly mess that you are, tears running down your cheek and nose running non-stop and just felt… disgusted. Normally he would give in upon seeing your crying face, but his anxiety is reaching its climax now and his heart is racing from nerves.

“What good are things like feelings if your technique is mediocre?”

All of a sudden the world seems to have stopped moving. You blinked, again and again, registering the poison Kiyoomi spewed onto you. Tears continued to flow like a broken facet as Kiyoomi continued, unaware of the damage he has already caused.

“You weren’t going to get into that school anyway if all you had were feelings and shitty technique! You didn’t train hard enough or put in enough effort! Instead, you do stupid things like spraining your ankle over a phone!”

For the first time between this argument you and Kiyoomi shared, you were speechless.

It just hit you how lowly Kiyoomi thought of you.

You spent hours choreographing a routine that you thought told a story. You trained over and over and over again to burn the steps into your head, making sure it was in sync with the song you had chosen. You recorded countless progress videos just to review and see how else you can improve every day.

All of the time, effort, blood, sweat, tears you’ve spent over this competition. All of the years spent devoting your life to dance, hoping you would someday get into that dance school and start a professional dance career.

Dismissed. Cast aside. Labelled as “shitty”.

Words couldn’t begin to describe the pure anguish you felt from such venom.

What’s worse is that they came from a man you thought supported you. Loved you.

Kiyoomi took your silence as his cue to book it to the shower. In the process he bumped into your shoulder, causing you to lose your balance and fall on your butt a second time.

Kiyoomi didn’t notice your fall. You didn’t notice the sting from the bruise that is definitely going to form.

You simply sat there, a hollow shell devoid of a soul.

\---

As the scalding hot water patted his skin, Kiyoomi felt his tension on his shoulders relax and the shaky feelings on his palms dissipate. Grabbing the shower gel and slathering it on his body for the 3rd time, he felt the itch fade away finally. The scent of your shared shower gel filled his nostrils and he finally felt calm for once that day.

His mind inadvertently replayed the previous scene over and over again and he felt bad. Your face, so distraught and broken was burned into his memory and he winced at his harsh words that he didn’t mean. He didn’t think your dance was shitty, but Kiyoomi didn’t think he was wrong in saying that technique mattered more than feelings in everything.

Even in volleyball, there is only so much emotion can do to push you in a game before your legs give out. He was sure that it was the same for dance. Of course technique mattered above all else.

But still, labelling it as shitty must have stung. Kiyoomi was blunt, but he was not stupid. He was aware of what words could do to people. But you must know he only said that in the heat of the moment. And that he didn’t mean any of it.

_Right?_

Deciding he was thoroughly disinfected, he quickly dried himself off and put on some clothes, donning a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt. Kiyoomi hoped that he could make it up to you by cooking your favourite dishes tonight and give you all the cuddles you needed.

Kiyoomi stepped out of the shower fully dressed, expecting to see you in the living room of his rented apartment. He didn’t see you there, though. Kiyoomi decides you call your name a few times. No response.

Maybe you fell asleep?

Kiyoomi checked the bedroom. No [Name].

Kitchen? No [Name].

Panic started to rise in his chest. Kiyoomi quickly grabbed his phone and tapped your speed dial number.

It rings twice but ends abruptly with a click. Baffled, he tried again. An automated voice filled his ear.

_‘The number you have dialled is not available. Please try again later.’_

The jittery feeling returned to Kiyoomi, stronger than before. With shaky hands he hastily grabbed a jacket and a mask before dashing out of his apartment, praying to the gods you were still nearby.

\---

Your vacant eyes stared blankly at the skyline of Tokyo. The sun is just about setting now, painting the sky a beautiful orangey-purple. Not that it mattered.

The world might as well be grey for all you care.

After that crazy shit-show you had with Kiyoomi, you quickly gathered your things and ran out of the apartment. You didn’t care that your ankle was swollen and demanded some TLC.

You just needed to get out of there, and fast, before you perish from the clawing feeling on your chest as your mind repeated the scene like a broken record.

With ankle searing, you hailed the nearest taxi you could find rattling your best friend’s address to the driver as you got in. You sent a quick text to your bestie, informing him you were coming over as best as you could with a spider-web screen. A while later, your phone rang and you thought perhaps it was your bestie calling to check up on you. Instead, you see ‘Kiyo ❤’ flashed before your eyes. The name shot straight to your already bleeding heart and your thumb jabbed the red cancel button immediately. Before Kiyoomi could call again, you turned the device off and threw it into the depths of your bag.

The old taxi driver would occasionally look at you through the rear-view mirror, offering a sympathetic smile. You were thankful he didn’t judge your pathetic appearance and shooed you away. If a stranger could tell you weren’t okay, why didn’t Kiyoomi?

You thought about all the times you were considerate of Kiyoomi’s feelings and questioned why he couldn’t do the same. The ache in your chest returned, duller this time, as you let a stray tear trickle down your cheek. You couldn’t be bothered to wipe it away, as you were sure there were more to come anyway. Soon after, your vision blurred, the scene before your eyes becoming splotches of colour instead of recognisable buildings. Tears continue to rain down your face as your eyelids were heavy from all the crying and you finally let sleep consume you.


	2. Good days bad days

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On good days, your mind would reflect on how far you’ve come.
> 
> On bad days, your brain evilly reminds you that all of the achievements you held so dear in your heart meant absolutely nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyo!
> 
> I'm so glad that are people who liked my fic! I do have some plans for this story so stick around for a fun ride (･ω<)☆
> 
> Please enjoy Chapter 2! ٩(◕‿◕｡)۶
> 
> TW: Swear words, anxiety and panic attacks

Kuroo Tetsurou didn’t expect a gibberish text from you at 7.29 PM.

You have always been precise when it came to messages and held a distaste for shortcuts or lingo. Kuroo knew your biggest pet peeve was people not being able to differentiate you’re from your.

So when he saw a message from you saying “im comng ober bow”, he felt something must be up.

But what Kuroo Tetsurou didn’t expect even more was how exhausted and hollow you looked at his doorstep 45 minutes later. He dropped his teasing mood when he noticed you leaning your weight on one foot and gripped the straps of your bag until your knuckles were white.

You must have sprained your ankle, Kuroo noted. He offered his arm to you and you took it wordlessly, gripping it tightly as you hobbled your way into his home. 

Kuroo knelt to remove your sneakers and grimaced at the big purplish-blue bruise that formed around your right ankle. After ensuring you were steady, he helped you remove your other shoe before gingerly leading you to the couch in the living room. 

With an ice pack in hand, he knelt to your injured ankle again, gently pressing the cool object onto it. Kuroo eyed you worriedly. Your vacant eyes remained.

Kuroo should have known not to ask if you’re alright. The answer is apparent.

He asked anyway. 

You didn’t answer.

Kuroo let out a heavy sigh, lightly rubbing your ankle in attempts to soothe it. Your voice came out so weak, Kuroo almost missed it.

“Tetsu,” you bit your lip as the wrinkle on your brow deepened. You held back the avalanche of emotions as much as you could. Kuroo looked up immediately.

“I don’t think I should be left alone for a while.”

\---

Kiyoomi left you 15 missed calls, 8 voicemails and a wall of text in your shared conversation on Line.

You didn’t respond.

He understood that you were angry, livid even. He just hoped you would call him back just so he knows you are safe.

When Monday morning rolled around and it was time for the advanced marketing lecture, a class you both shared, Kiyoomi arrived a good 45 minutes earlier. For some reason, he thought if he had arrived earlier, he could maybe catch you and pull you aside to apologise.

The class bell rang and Kiyoomi scanned the faces present in the hall.

No [Name].

Maybe you’re late, he guessed. Kiyoomi waited for 5 minutes. Then 15 minutes. Then 30.

The lecture ended, and you didn’t show.

Clicking his tongue, he pulled up your schedule from the time you sent it to him. It was an hour break before you had advanced Korean level 4.

Grabbing his backpack, Kiyoomi sprinted out of the lecture hall, accidentally bumping into a few students who were entering the hall for the next lecture. He flinched a little before focusing his attention on finding you.

First, he checked the library. Kiyoomi got nothing but a stern warning from the librarian that he was making too much noise running around. Kiyoomi huffed out a half-hearted apology and fled the place.

Next, he scanned the cafeteria, thinking perhaps you were hiding out here instead. Nope, the cafeteria was empty safe for some lecturers getting their morning cuppa.

Last, he dashed to your dance studio, hoping that you were practicing for the competition. It was only when he saw the empty room that Kiyoomi remembered that you had sprained your ankle and was in no condition to dance.

What a _fucking_ idiot he was.

Kiyoomi’s heart raced and he couldn’t decipher if it was all the running around or the panic that you were nowhere to be found that caused it. 

He was panting now. As a college athlete planning to go pro, he thought his stamina was a lot better than this.

Catching his breath, he made his way to your next class, hoping that finally he would find you there. You never missed Korean class. Even if you were sick and running a high fever you tried to sneak into class, only to have Kiyoomi expose you and the lecturer forced you to go home.

That day Kiyoomi brought you to his apartment and he made you a nice chicken porridge with a side of pickled plum. 

He smiled at the memory. Even with a stuffy nose and flushed cheeks, your eyes sparkled, grateful for Kiyoomi’s affection. You looked so adorable in his eyes.

Kiyoomi entered from the back of the lecture hall and found a seat that was inconspicuous. Soon after the bell rang and students filtered into class. Dread filled Kiyoomi as he waited and waited but your familiar figure never arrived.

The guilt was beginning to consume Kiyoomi alive. He felt his hands trembling again and he clenched his fists a few times to try and calm down. Kiyoomi left the lecture, already losing hope that you would attend class.

A taxi was hailed. An address was said and 15 minutes later Kiyoomi found himself at your flat. Though you often spent the weekends at Kiyoomi’s, on weekdays you would return to this place to study or when you found Kiyoomi “too distracting”.

Kiyoomi rang the doorbell, holding his breath as he mentally rehearsed what he was going to say to you. 

First, he was going to apologise for being an idiot. Then he was going to assure you that your dance isn’t shitty. Lastly, he was going to tell you that he loves you.

The door swung open.

It wasn’t you.

“Err, hi,” Kiyoomi stuttered. The pre-rehearsed speech went out of the window and he was scrambling to think of what to say. “Is [Name] here?”

“[Name]?” your roommate raised an eyebrow. “She hasn’t been back since Friday. I thought she was with you.”

Each word felt like a punch to Kiyoomi’s gut. His tremors returned to his hands and he kept his clenched fists in his jeans pocket. “Oh,” he said dumbly.

“What happened,” your roommate eyed him suspiciously.

“I’ll…” Kiyoomi looked away. “I’ll explain later. See you.”

As Kiyoomi turned on his feet, his brain went on overdrive to think of where else you might be.

“Hey!” your roommate yelled. Kiyoomi stopped in his tracks, turning to look at your roommate slowly.

With arms crossed, your roommate huffed. “She better be ok. Update me if you know anything.”

Kiyoomi nodded. He sure hopes that you’re ok too.

\---

It has been 2 weeks since you arrived at the Kuroo household.

Apart from a few forced smiles of gratitude you gave the Kuroo parentals for their hospitality, Kuroo didn’t see any emotion on your face.

Your appetite shrunk dramatically and you looked a lot weaker than usual. 

It was the same scene every meal time. Although grandmama Kuroo would cook dishes that she knew you liked, you always only took 2-3 bites before declaring you were full and apologised for the inconvenience. Papa Kuroo would insist that you take just one more bite. 

On good days you would concede, remaining on the dinner table and pushing the food around before putting it in your mouth.

On bad days, you would give a small smile and decline. Kuroo swore he could hear retching sounds in the toilet soon after.

Most of the time, you spent your days in the Kuroo household cooped up in their guest room. 

On good days, your mind would reflect on how far you’ve come. From an awkward child with no hand-eye coordination to a serious dance amateur with a few awards under her belt. 

On bad days, your brain evilly replays the dreaded scene at Kiyoomi’s, reminding you that all of the achievements you held so dear in your heart meant absolutely nothing.

_It’s all just shitty technique._

A tear or two would trickle down your cheek. Your heart fills up with anguish but you’re too tired to sob anymore. Crying wouldn’t do anything.

You let your heart fill some more before closing your heavy lids and let sleep claim you.

\---

Kuroo silently wishes everyday would be a good day for you. He doesn’t know if he could handle seeing you so broken and vacant for much longer. He confides in Kenma about the situation but realises he doesn’t know enough to get any good advice out of the man on the other end of the line.

“Kuroo,” Kenma’s soft voice laced with worry. “I think all you can do now is to be there for her when she needs you.”

“I know,” Kuroo ran his hand over his messy bedhead, frustrated beyond words. “I just wish I could do something more.”

“Me too,” Kenma let out a sigh. “I’ll drop by to visit her soon. Take care of her, please.”

“Yeah, I will.”

After saying their goodbyes, Kuroo ended the call with a click and flopped onto this bed. Before he could let his mind wander, he heard a thud from the guest room followed by a scream a moment after.

Kuroo shot out of bed, fearing the worst, and ran to the guest room.

He swung the door open and his heart wrenched at the sight of you.

You were on the floor, knees to your chest while you sobbed your heart out. Your face twisted in pure agony as your fingernails scratched your arms hysterically until they were red and blotchy.

Kuroo was by your side in an instant. He tried to get you to stop scratching yourself but you kept going, resisting his pesky hands.

“[Name],” Kuroo begged. When you didn’t respond, Kuroo unconsciously raised his voice to get your attention. “[Name]!!”

The increase in volume definitely got your attention, but not in the way Kuroo expected. Instead of scratching your arms, your hands went up to your ears covering them.

“No no no no no no no no…” you murmured. Your hands crept up to your temples now, gripping your hair forcefully as the pain distracted you from the avalanche of emotions that were spilling out. “No no no no no no no no!”

“Shh, shh” Kuroo cooed, pulling you into his chest and patted your hair. “I’m here. I’m here.”

Kuroo’s voice registered in your head slowly but the anguish continued to spill out of you. Your chest feels tight and heavy, making it difficult for you to breathe. Panicked, you took in a few quick breaths before you felt suffocated, but it does nothing to dissipate the tightness in your chest.

Kuroo realised you are hyperventilating and pulled away to give you some space. He counted 1 to 5 in an attempt to slow your breathing, but you speed up instead. Kuroo took hold of your hands and gave them a squeeze while counting again, slower this time.

For a moment, it seems like it was working. But as quickly as it came, your breathing sped up again and Kuroo was starting to lose hope. Silently praying to any deity up there that was willing to listen, he tried calling your name again.

Miraculously, this time your breathing slowed as you and Kuroo locked eyes.

“That’s it,” Kuroo encouraged, caressing your hair again. “Deep breaths. Deeeeeep breaths.”

You seemed to take in the advice, closing your eyes and taking in 1 deep breath at a time.

In. Out. In. Out.

Your eyes opened slowly to see Kuroo’s worried expression, his hands still patting your hair gently.

“I’m sorry,” you apologised, biting your lip. You feel anxious again. “I’m sorry.”

“Shh, stop,” Kuroo flashed a small smile at you. “Think you can get up?”

“Um,” you looked away. “No.”

Kuroo looked at your foot and it was beginning to swell up again. Odd, it has already been 2 weeks and you stopped limping just a few days ago. With a sigh, Kuroo put your arm over his shoulder and lifted you up, helping you towards the bed.

Kuroo sat on the floor, legs crossed, as he rubbed your ankle gently.

“So,” his fingers gingerly pressed onto the bruise. “Care to tell me what happened?”

You pressed your lips tightly together until it was a thin line. Recounting the story seems painful, but you didn’t think it was fair for Kuroo to take care of you for 2 weeks without having a clue what happened.

“It’s a long story,” you explained, hoping it would get you off the hook.

It didn’t.

“I’ve got all day.”

Grabbing a nearby pillow for comfort, you braced yourself as you repeated the story of what happened.

That shitty day, the shitty fight, shitty technique and all.

Kuroo listened wordlessly, nodding at appropriate times to signal he was paying attention.

“Then, what happened just now?”

You gulped. Looking away, you explained that you were trying to practice your routine for the competition to prove to someone, to yourself that you weren’t shitty. For some reason, the dance felt off even though the steps were right. You tried again and again, but your newly healed ankle decided otherwise. The painful sting shot straight up your leg, the shock led to you falling on your bum.

The sense of failure overwhelmed you there and then. It was a routine you created. It was a routine you burned into your memory. So why is it that you couldn’t perform it now?

Maybe Kiyoomi was right. You are shitty.

“You’re kinda silly you know,” Kuroo chided in a soft tone. You looked down on him, cocking your head to one side.

“You know you can’t expect your ankle to function as if it wasn’t twisted 2 weeks ago, right?.”

Kuroo stood up now, ruffling your hair tenderly. You gave him a small smile. His words made sense, but it didn’t make you feel any better.

“Let’s go wash up and I’ll make some food for you,” Kuroo held out his arm to you. “You look ugly.”

With a roll of your eyes, you threw a half-hearted punch to his side before accepting his arm gratefully.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm just realising that even though this is a SakusaxReader, there isn't a lot of interaction between the two apart from the shit-show in Chapter 1(*ﾉωﾉ)
> 
> I have reasons!! I just it's good enough to keep y'all entertained.
> 
> Kudos and comments appreciated! ( ´ ∀ `)ノ～ ♡


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